into the hills we go
by TheHighestMountain
Summary: Max had asked her to stay and Raven could and she ought to and so she did. It was strange how she had transformed from an angry person to a dutiful one. She wondered when that had happened. Takes place within Dreadnought. Oneshot.


**into the hills we go**

Pain lanced across Raven's right thigh. A bullet carved her flesh apart and she staggered forward. There was gunfire ringing in her ears and a white-hot fire spreading across her leg. A strong hand grabbed her forcefully by the shoulder, fingers pressed with force enough to leave bruises, and half-pulled, half-dragged her upright. Instinct kept her legs moving.

_MOVE. _There would be time for weakness later. Time to clench her teeth and swear at her gods-cursed luck.

Nero and Raven crashed onto the Shroud, the ramp already raising shut behind them. Nero spared a scant moment to lower Raven gently to the floor before moving urgently towards the cockpit. The students clustered around, panicked like hunted sheep. Only Malpense seemed to have the presence of mind to react to the situation, following Nero to sit in the co-pilot seat. Nero would spare a moment when the bullets stopped flying to feel a touch indignant about that.

"Get those doors open," Nero snapped. They wouldn't be going anywhere without getting the hanger doors of the Dreadnought open. Diabolus Darkdoom's shiny new toy would be their hanging grave.

Raven let out a hiss of pain as she applied pressure to her wound through the soaked material of her trousers. The sound jerked Wing back into the present moment. He grabbed an emergency medical kit from the wall, pulled out the gauze pads and pressed the pad against the wound. It steadily soaked through with blood. It was a bad wound, but not life-threatening. Raven could stop the blood flow, clean out the wound and suture it herself. It wouldn't be pretty and her movement would be limited, but she wouldn't be dead and that would have to be good enough.

The shroud was up and away; the sound of the chopper blades thrumming noisily was silenced abruptly as Nero turned enabled whisper mode. Raven's shoulders relaxed minutely. It seemed they were safely away, seven unfortunate students in tow. The bright side for them, Raven supposed, was they wouldn't have to take part in the field exam.

"Pass me that medpack." Wing handed her the box. "I've got this from here." She gave the boy a nod of thanks. He was a sensible one, she thought approvingly; Wing seemed to have his head screwed on. Though you never could quite tell with this lot – they were well-behaved one moment and then everything was on fire the next.

Raven riffled through the pack, pulling out a needle and medical grade thread, a painkiller and a muscle relaxant, and a knife. She cut away the soaked material of her trousers in a ragged line just above the wound. It was, perhaps, indecently high, exposing the edge of her women's style black boxers. Raven didn't give a fuck.

"Need a hand with that?"

Nero had left the cockpit under the control of one strictly instructed Otto Malpense and climbed down the ladder. Raven nodded silently, handing him the stitching supplies as she prepared the syringe for an injection.

"Does this remind you of anything?" Max grinned through the thread held in his teeth; one of his hands pressed together the jagged edges of the wound whilst the right nimbly darted the needle in and out of the skin. He left behind a line of neat, perfunctory stitches. Natalya huffed through gritted teeth.

"Reminds me of being young." She looked up at Max. "We've done this too many damn times."

And they had. Too many times to count. Their history could be counted in terms of bullets and stitches and the toll would be far too high. She had taken her first wound for Maximilian Nero as they stood and watched the Glasshouse burn, shrapnel flying everywhere. She had stood in front of him. A chunk of debris had grazed white-hot across her arm and she bore the pain with a fierce kind of glee. She would never again serve the Furans. The pain felt like freedom.

Max looked at her like he knew what she was thinking and he probably did. He made no comment, merely tied the suture off and cut the thread.

"Once more unto the breach, my dear?" He offered her his hand. She didn't need it, of course, but she took it anyway and Nero – he was Nero now, stern and in command, a man who controlled the fates of thousands – helped her up.

"To battle," Raven agreed. She was eager for it.

* * *

Raven hunkered in the safe house, resting her aching leg as much as possible. She watched Nero prepare to take Otto and Wing on a foray to Drake's building to gather intelligence. She offered no comment. It was a risky venture, but they need to take a risk before they were hunted down like cowering prey. She didn't approve of asking the students to risk their lives, but at her core Raven was a pragmatist: Wing and Otto could do this and in some sense they ought to do this and so they should. That was all there was to it. She watched them and she tested the edge of her swords.

Twenty years ago it would have stung her pride to be ordered to stay behind to mind the children. Bullet hole or no bullet hole, Raven could have gone with them. You don't need to be able to sprint to shoot. But Max had asked her to stay and she could and she ought to and so she did. It was strange how Raven had transformed from an angry person to a dutiful one. She wondered when that had happened.

"Be careful."

Those were her parting words to the trio. She looked Nero in the eyes. _Be careful. _It meant _watch your back because I can't_. It meant _don't get shot_. It meant _come back to me or I will come for you_.

Nero nodded and they left. It meant _I will. My oath and my honour on it. _

Raven watched the security cameras. Time passed and the only movement was the blinking of her eyes. A red alarm blinkered suddenly, shocking her out of her stillness. She pulled up the corresponding feed and cursed at the sight of multiple armed men moving towards them.

"Everyone in here!"

Raven shielded the students as best she could, but it wasn't enough. Drake had sent a more than sufficient force, loaded with the latest in stealth tech and cutting-edge weaponry. Raven stood, fear pushed back into a small corner of her mind, in front of the students sheltering behind a hastily thrown desk. The urge to protect hummed within in her, vibrated down her straightening spine. Raven had nothing against destruction, but she had long since found that she fought with more fire when she fought _for _someone.

They broke through the door and she flickered into motion. Raven was still and then she was not. Smoke grenades spilled from her palms and Raven retreated into her natural state. She punched a man in the belly. He grunted and doubled over from the force. Raven had already moved on to the next man, levering her good leg out to crack him in the ankle. Pain lanced up her leg regardless and she gritted her teeth. _Protect them._

A well-aimed straight punch took a man in the nose and the bones of his face crunched unpleasantly beneath her fingers, just as a sloppy hit struck her wound. Raven screamed in agony. _Shit_. She breathed deeply through her nose and out through her mouth, fighting unconsciousness. One more man went down before the butt of a gun knocked her into the void.

"Raven is secure; repeat, Raven is secure."

_Sorry, Max_.

* * *

Pain shocked her back into the land of the living. She rather wished it hadn't. They'd been cuffed – the locks cinched several notches tighter than they needed to be – and loaded into a Shroud. A scraggly, ugly man leaned over her. He licked his cracked and dry lips. An involuntary shiver of revulsion shuddered down Natalya's spine, until the mask of Raven snapped over her. Dirtied fingers stroked down her cheek.

"Can't fly, little Raven?" The man asked mockingly. She stared back, refusing to let him get to her. A finger stabbed without warning into the flesh of her wounded leg. Raven's eyes flashed wide but she clenched her lips shut, refusing to give the man any satisfaction. "Oi lads. She doesn't want to play. Little broken birdie."

Two more men came over, lumbering as the van rumbled down an uneven road. Raven knew what was about to happen. Splinter the bodies of a few men and their buddies would come for their payback. Her life was paved with blood and today would be no different. One man pulled out a knife and Shelby gasped from somewhere to Raven's right. She turned her head to look at the students and shook her head slowly.

_Look away. _Nero taught his students to be cunning, to think creatively, to use everything that they had to their advantage. To Nero, villainy was about guile and trickery and style. It wasn't about gratuitous violence and so the students, whilst they took combat classes and knocked each other around, had never seen anything _truly deranged. _They had seen corpses and bullet holes and blood, they had watched Raven tear men apart like she was shredding paper, but they had not seen _torture_. They had not seen the glee on the faces of deranged men as they took vile pleasure in the pain of others, not seen the twisting of the knife until the victim broke and begged for mercy, screams ringing. Raven didn't want them to see it now.

It was ugly. Bruises bloomed over her ribs, her chest, her face. Every square inch of her flesh was beaten and Raven curled into a protective ball. No sound left her lips. Her head rang with prayers, prayers for forgiveness, for safety, for the agony that coursed through her body to end. The men seemed to be under orders to cause her no fatal or disfiguring damage. Blood ran from the tiny nicks of the jagged, rusty knife. Still, she did not scream. Nothing lasts forever, not even pain. Raven knew this and knew that all she had to do was to wait it out, retreat inside herself until it was over. And then it was and Raven was left with her thoughts and her pain and her tears.

A body sat down next to her, thumping against the floor. _No more, please no more_. Raven didn't open her eyes. Gentle fingers clumsily wiped the blood from her brow. It was remarkably similar to their mission a few months ago – Raven bloodied and wounded on the ground, Max leant over her, clearing away the grime. Today it was not Max. Natalya flickered open her eyes and saw Laura Brand crouched over her, a wavering smile on her lips. Her fingers tipped Natalya's head back and she pressed a pill into her mouth.

"Painkiller." The girl whispered. "Nigel had some."

Natalya balled up spit in her mouth and swallowed. Her mouth tasted like metal and gunshots. Franz draped his oversized jacket over her body – it had been tied around his waist, taken from the safe house. Their kindness soaked into her skin like sunlight.

* * *

Raven stepped off the Shroud, leaning heavily on Franz Argentblum. Raven rather feared that it was walk off the aircraft under her own power or be dragged by her tightly cropped hair. She looked up and stepped backwards in time. Her body was early thirties but Raven's mind was thirteen again, frightened and furious. All she was is fury. Her body was alight with it. _Furan. _

The ground was solid beneath her feet but all she could see was snow. Blindingly white snow, spattered with the crimson blood of her friends. Inside she screamed and screamed as the sky overhead darkened into night and the stars hung mockingly above her.

"Privet, Natalya."

His voice was soft, always so soft. He taught her that – that the softest ones are always the worst, their apparent kindness a falsity. Far better to know evil as you looked it in the face.

She spat at his feet and she was thirty again, face to face with a ghost from her past. Raven locked the screaming girl deep down inside her. _Show no fear. You are the monster here_. If she said it often enough, Raven might begin to believe it. The truth was that she had abandoned the monster long ago.

"Nero has always been an idealistic fool." He gestured towards the students. Furan grabbed her roughly by the chin. His touch repulsed her. "I would have expected better from you, Natalya."

Her name sounded like poison on his lips.

"He's a better man than you will ever be." The words are snarled out and they are honest and true. "A better man than you could ever hope to be, Pietor Furan."

The words hung between them, broken and bloodied woman to her own personal demon. _I am better than you_. She thought it and her lips curved up into a cruel smile. Blood dripped from her gums and dribbled down her face. _I am more than you could ever hope to be_. Furan scowled. _You are nothing_.

Raven was marched away and her back was straight with the knowledge of what she is and what she did not allow herself to become. _Monster_. The past rang in her head. _My little Raven_. His old words have no power over her.

Furan locked her up. He changed his mind not half an hour later and had her cuffs removed. He entered the room like a man looking for a fight. _He never could resist a chance to brag_, she mused. Raven let the simmering anger flood her veins as she stepped into the makeshift ring. Her fists were raised and she was battered. She had no strength and they both know it.

She fell. She got back up. He toyed with her, forced her to dance clumsily around the ring. Raven didn't let it get to her. Furan grew more vicious and a savage punch sent her spinning to the floor. She let his words of hate and victory wash over her. He walked away. Raven was left there on the floor, blood splattered around her on the concrete. She closed her eyes against the pain.

_Hopeless_. The situation was growing dire. The room spun around her and Raven thought of the students, alone and afraid. No doubt they were putting on a brave face. She admired that. _Hopeless girl. _A tear of pain and frustration rolled out of the corner of her eye. _Are you ready to fly? _There was nothing that she could do but wait and see what Furan would do to her. She knew that he would kill her in the end, carve a bloody hole through her torso with her own blade and toss her body into the ocean.

Raven only had one, small glimmer of hope. He had come for her before, come at the final hour when all had seemed lost. He always came. Natalya knew that it was the thinking of a desperate child, afraid to die. No one could stay the determined hand of death. _Max. _

She was sixteen and taking a leap of faith. The glasshouse exploded in front of her. She was twenty and being drowned in a public bath in Rome. The light was fading and her body stopped struggling. Then the pressure was relieved. She was twenty-five and captured by a rebel G.L.O.V.E. faction. Bodies exploded around her and a man strode through the dispelling smoke. She was twenty-seven and her body ached with her years of her age as she ran across the tundra. There was just Raven and the cold until there was a blanket around her shoulders and urgent hands at her face.

She was thirty and on her back on a concrete floor. She was not waiting to be saved, but she certainly wouldn't mind.

"Where are you, Max?"

* * *

The cell door creaked open and the assassin saved herself. There was fear in the eyes of her execution party and then there was nothing but blankness. She regretted the death that she left in her wake, but a leopard cannot change its spots. And Natalya was all leopard. She prowled after her prey. _Furan. You cannot escape_. Murder glittered in her eyes and then she stopped.

Raven turned abruptly and stalked in the direction of the cells. The students came first, before vengeance, before fury. She found Franz, Nigel, Lucy, Laura, and Shelby skulking around. Raven snorted. Trust them to have already broken out. She escorted the students to safety and then went for Diabolus Darkdoom.

Bodies hit the floor. Darkdoom looked at her like she was his bloodied, glorious personal angel. She cracked the cuffs on his wrists. She learned from him the truth of what was happening her. Air Force One. The President. The launch codes. Thor's Hammer. Raven looked at Otto Malpense and she saw a boy old beyond his years. She saw a human who thought he might be lost to the machine within.

"I have to do this." The boy was determined. Raven remembered how it felt to be young and to be prepared to die. She took him aside. Looked him in the eye.

"Man and machine. You can be both."

Otto smiled at Raven and she saw that he understood what she meant. There can be two people inside one body: the man and the monster, the boy and the machine, coexisting. She watched him go to his death, head held high. That plane was going down and if Otto Malpense could stop Drake launching missiles at Yellowstone then he ought to. And so he did. A boy after her own heart.

Raven raced for Furan's Shroud as it lifted off. Her blades slid through the armoured shell of the machine and she fell. She crashed into the ground below.

* * *

Nero carried her off the Shroud and through the darkened corridors of H.I.V.E.'s tunnelled network. He had one arm supporting her back and the other under her legs, Nero's hand careful to avoid the still fresh wound on her thigh. Raven swam in and out of consciousness, head tipped back, staring at the passing lights above her as Nero walked with a smooth, even stride. They stopped. She was gently placed onto a medical bed. Faces appeared above her, blurring in and out of focus.

Cool fingers rolled up the sleeve of her left arm and there was the sharp prick of a sedative-laden needle. Raven fought it, strained with every ounce of her mental and physical strength to stay alert. She despised feeling weak and there was no state more vulnerable than unconsciousness. It was no use, of course. Sleep claimed her.

The medical staff crowded around her and worked with a brisk efficiency, taking temperature readings, cutting off her trousers to access the bullet wound. As she was being attached to an IV drip Nero silently exited the room. He had business to attend to.

* * *

Raven did not writhe as she slept. Anastasia Furan had beaten that habit out of her many years ago. _An assassin must be able to sleep anywhere silently_. Her harsh voice still rang in Raven's ears like it was just yesterday. Today Raven slept fitfully, her attached heartrate monitor spiking in alarm every few minutes.

"Malpense."

The name escaped through her teeth. Max sat by her bedside in a comfortable chair, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read through a small stack of reports. Killing people is dirty, ink-smudged work.

They were no longer in the medical bay. He'd had Natalya transferred back to her own spartan rooms. There is little in the way of personal effects. The floor was completely clean, regularly hoovered free of dust, and the only object on any of the surfaces was an earmarked and scribbled-in copy of _The Way of Kings_. Max shook his head at that. Why a woman whose life revolved around violence would wish to spend her scant spare time reading about more violence on a grander scale escaped him.

Max sat back in his chair and sighed, putting the report to one side. There was little sign of Otto Malpense beyond the news that the President had survived and Air Force One had, to all accounts, landed smoothly. He steepled his fingers and gazed at Natalya. Otto Malpense wasn't the name he had expected to hear from her lips; he'd expected another name entirely, a name belonging to a different time. _Furan_.

Max thought on that. He thought on the anger that ran bone-deep in Natalya. The anger at the Furan's for taking her childhood from her, for tearing her friendships away in a hail of bullets, for carving any remaining joy for life from her skin as she wept and wept until she had nothing left to give. For making her into a monster of a man. Max would give her Pietor Furan broken and bloodied for that.

Yet Natalya was not a child anymore, not that angry young girl that Nero had met all those years ago. She was a woman beyond grown with a present of her own making. She was no longer made of hate and fury; Natalya had duty carved into the notches of her spine and she had grown to suit it. When she moved to kill she did so from a sense of servitude – to G.L.O.V.E., to H.I.V.E., to Nero. That, Max thought, was why it was Malpense's name spilling out of her fraught unconsciousness. A sense of duty towards a fragile young man with a shock of white hair and the ability to change the face of the world.

He went back to his papers. The hours ticked long into the night and still he sat. When Natalya's eyes flickered open he smiled in a quiet sense of relief. Max waited for her to speak. She wet her cracked lips with her tongue, taking in her surroundings.

"No wine?"

She asked to make him laugh, but it was only half a jest. She raised her hand towards him, expectantly waiting for a glass, and Max raised an eyebrow.

"Not for you." His tone was light and teasing as he caught her hand in his own. Max leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead. She rolled her eyes.

"Should've let Furan get you."

They laugh together and it is the easy laugh of two people who know that they have escaped the clutches of death for one more day.


End file.
